


Mermen And Octopuses

by toesohnoes



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is a merman, the Hulk is an octopus, and an inter-species romance is never going to end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mermen And Octopuses

**Author's Note:**

> Originally serialised at my [tumblr](http://howevermanywords.tumblr.com/tagged/mermen-and-octopuses). Mermaids are serious business. I have no excuse for this fic.

The ocean is an open playground to creatures like Clint, the mermaids (and mermen, thank you very much) but even the Princes of the Sea have places that they aren’t supposed to touch. Clint can swim and swish and swirl through every depth that he can imagine - but he shouldn’t go into the deepest, darkest water. King Fury has told them all the stories of the creatures that lurk in the depths, far worse than any mere shark. As a merman in Fury's inner circle, one of the shield guards, Clint has heard more stories than most.

Lingering at the limit of his previous exploration, Clint’s green tail flits back and forth as his greedy eyes consider the unknown adventures laid out before him. Fury will go mad; Natasha might kill him for doing it without her.

He doesn’t care. He can’t wait.

Clint looks across the dark unknown, and then flicks his tail and dives deeper, deeper, deeper than he’s ever swam before.

The water gets colder the further down he goes, until it starts to seep into his bones, pressure building as he swims through the black - even his eyes, sharp as they are, have trouble seeing in this blackness. Maybe he’s going too deep, too far, but the freedom is intoxicating, a great mystery waiting for him.

He falls further into the sea, swimming with elegant swishes of his tail - but a swirl of air bubbles and liquid black movement from beneath him makes him pause, the toned muscles of his arms tensing as he senses danger coming. He can’t make out anything but a dark shadow from below. He lingers mid-water, peering down, until he realises that this is no trick of the light.

He makes an abrupt turn back the way he came, and starts to swim in powerful thrusts of his tail - water flooding around him, rushing past his face, his heart hammering, his mind echoing every warning Fury ever gave him. Big mistake, stupid mistake, and if he gets hurt out here it will all be his fault.

He’s almost back to shallower waters, almost returned to safety, when the darkness catches him. An impossible force wraps around his tail and yanks him back down. Arms encircle him, and for all his thrashing Clint can’t break free. Held against a large, firm chest he struggles uselessly, while his tail becomes entangled by several strong, squeezing tentacles.

The arms holding him are green and muscled beyond what Clint could have imagined. The man - and he must be a man, for all his size - holds onto Clint and grunts until Clint stops struggling, exhausted and bruised.

He takes deep gulps of water as he tries to figure out his next move, but the giant isn’t trying to hurt him. It runs its hands over him, first his scaled hips then further up onto his torso, up to his neck and hair. It feels like an exploration, curious and scientific, and Clint tries to stay calm and stay very, very still. He can get out of this.

The creature holds him for too long with no movement, no sound - it goes past 'terrifying' and well into 'awkward'. Clint wishes he could fidget. “You alright back there, big guy?” he asks, pitching his voice as if he was talking to Natasha or Coulson - friends, not monsters.

The giant grunts. Its entrapping tentacles, still tangled around Clint’s tail, shift and squeeze as he holds them afloat. “Hulk likes fish-man,” he grumbles. Clint can feel the shaking vibrations of every word through the water.

“Good,” Clint says, blinking as his heart races. “I prefer the term ‘merman’, but whatever you want.”

“Merman,” the giant repeats, as it runs one hand down Clint’s abdomen - and they’re getting dangerously close to bad touch territory here, even if so far Clint is just happy to be alive. “Yes.”

The Hulk nods, and clutches Clint tightly against his chest. The pressure on Clint’s tail is almost unbearable, before moments later the rest of the Hulk’s tentacles pulsate - and they plunge downwards together, down into the deepest, darkest pits of the sea. The grip on him tightens, until Clint cries out in a bubble of crushing pain - and the pressure is too much, darkness clouding his vision and sending him down, down into unconsciousness.

*

Clint slowly surfaces into consciousness, his head throbbing and his muscles aching. He opens his eyes in murky, dark water, and flinches as he remembers what happened: the forbidden exploration, the octoman and then the deep, dark blackness of the depths he had never even imagined before. He had passed out somewhere during the sharp descent, but now he finds himself in a dark cave. It's shallow and undecorated, not used as any kind of living space that Clint could recognise.

There’s no sign of the huge green beast that had dragged him down here. Clint flicks his tail experimentally: it hurts, crushed by the monster’s grip, but he can move it. He’ll be able to swim.

He rolls onto his front and swishes his tail, moving forward by supporting himself with his hands against the rocky cave floor. Making it home is going to be hell, his tail aching after only a couple of metres of progress - but he makes it out of the cave into the open ocean. The water is a little brighter out here.

He doesn’t make it much further.

Right by the cave entrance, leaning against the sheer rock wall with his arms crossed over his chest, the giant is waiting for him. The Hulk’s head is tilted down towards his chest and his eyes are closed - his breathing is slow and steady. Asleep at his post.

“Shit,” Clint mouths, a movement of his lips that doesn’t make a sound. He keeps his eyes trained on the Hulk as he starts to swim forward, creeping past the green beast.

Snake-fast, before the Hulk’s eyes have even opened, a tentacle lashes out and wraps around Clint’s chest, dragging him in as surely as a fishing line. The Hulk’s head rises and he blinks groggily, squinting at Clint before he grunts, a great vibration running through the water around them. “Fish-man hurt,” the Hulk says, reaching out for Clint’s tail.

Holding Clint in place like his attempts to get free mean nothing, he reaches out to brush one finger over Clint’s bruised tail, gently stroking displaced scales. Clint freezes, unwilling to move, just in case that gentle exploration becomes anything more dangerous.

“Hulk can’t help,” the octoman mutters, before he shifts his grip on Clint, more supportive - and, yeah, Clint recognises this one, this is how the big guy carries him when he needs to swim at the same time. “Needs Bruce.”

 _Who the hell is Bruce?_ Clint wants to ask, but he never gets the chance - seconds later, the Hulk’s tentacles flex, and then they are shooting upwards, water rushing by them, up and up to the surface.

They reach the surface and cause a wave of rolling white foam onto the rocky shore. Clint breathes air instead of water and feels like he’s drowning, the air tough and dry in his mouth - but he can do it. He can survive up here.

The Hulk coils onto the rocks, carrying Clint with him as his tentacles reach and drag them onto dry land and wave-splashed stone. “Bruce,” the Hulk roars. In the open air, sound is different - it hits Clint’s ears as rough as sandpaper, echoing through his skull. He winces and covers his head with his hands, while the Hulk’s arms remain tight around his chest. His tail flicks uselessly through the air, damaged and bruised.

The Hulk places him gently onto the rocks, laying him out like a precious offering, before he raises his head and shouts again. Clint groans and hopes that ‘Bruce’ turns up before the Hulk pops an eardrum.

The Hulk settles back, his fists resting on the ground, as he begins to grunt and grumble to himself, his thick tentacles twisting along the rocks. Clint props himself up onto his elbows and watches with a frown. “Uh… Green guy? Octoman? What’s going on?” Clint asks, even though none of his previous questions have been answered.

The Hulk grabs his own chest, blunt fingers scratching over his bare, green skin. He pants for air and for a couple of seconds Clint thinks that maybe he’s drowning - until he sees the change happening. The Hulk’s skin is rippling, shrinking. It’s like watching his body close in on itself. His tentacles close together, joining like a zip, and his skin loses its colouring, turning paler and paler.

Within a couple of seconds, Clint is left staring at a naked, human man.

Dripping, the man rests on all fours and pants for air, sucking in great gulps.

“So,” Clint says, and watches the man freak out at the sudden sound of company. “I’m guessing you’re ‘Bruce’?”

The human scrambles backwards all the way into the waves, leaving the water to lick around him while Clint shuffles impatiently forward, ungainly on his tail. “The big octopus guy was shouting for you,” he says. “Do you know why?”

Bruce’s eyes remain fixed on Clint, and for a moment it seems as if he has no idea what Clint is saying. The only human language Clint can speak is English. Eventually, slowly, he nods. “He hurt you,” he pants. “He wants me to fix it.”

Clint flicks his tail and feels the ache through every muscle. “I’ve had worse,” he says - because he’s not letting this guy anywhere near him. He’ll handle the problem by himself. “What the hell are you?”

“I…” Bruce sits back, covering his modesty with strategically placed hands. Clint hardly notices - he’s too busy staring at his legs, such strange things. Down where mermaids roam, they don’t get a lot of human visitors. Fury would do anything it takes to defend their privacy. “It’s a long story.”

Clint looks out at the ocean stretching into the distance behind Bruce, the embracing waves and inviting depths. His tail twinges in pain. “Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” he asks. “Start talking.”

It is a deep, endless ocean. There is always something new to discover.

Bruce pulls himself together, wiping the water from his face and shaking his head as if trying to clear it. He looks like he’s having a hard time working out where and who he is, and Clint gets that - he would be freaking out if he split into a pair of human legs as well. He’s too eager to be patient, however.

“I want to know what happened. You had tentacles a minute ago.”

“And I was green,” Bruce adds.

“Fury never warned us about you,” Clint says. He pushes himself forward curiously, his tail curled against the pebbles. “He knows everything that happens in that ocean, but he has never once told us about an octopus who can change into a man.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“So how does it work?” Clint asks. “You attacked and kidnapped me. I think I’m owed a few answers.”

“I -” Bruce’s eyes are shaded with guilt. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Does it still hurt?”

“The tail? It’ll be fine. I heal quickly.” Clint tilts his head to the side. “Well?”

“There isn’t much to say.”

“There’s a whole lot.” Clint shrugs. “Are you a man or an octopus? Originally, I mean. Let’s start with the basics.”

“A man. A human. I work as a scientist. Worked.” Bruce shakes his head. “Not any more. It’s too dangerous.”

“Because you turn into him?”

“When I get angry.” Bruce runs his hand over his mouth as if he wants to wipe the words away. “When I get angry, I turn into that thing - rage, and hatred, and destruction. It all comes out of me.”

“I’ve gotta say, he didn’t seem that angry,” Clint says. “I’ve fought sharks - real mer-eaters. You weren’t like that.”

Bruce won’t even look at him, and he smiles like he’s being forced. “Yeah,” he says slowly, and Clint doesn’t think he’s agreeing with him at all. “I should look at your tail. I actually - I was doing research in the area. I know a little.”

“A little about…?”

Bruce’s smile is smaller this time, and Clint believes it more. Bruce ducks his head like he’s not used to eye contact. “Your kind. The merfolk. The other guy sees a lot when he’s out; I remember more than I used to.”

Clint’s tail twitches as Bruce crawls forward, hiding his nudity with all the ashamed modesty of a human, to investigate the damage the Hulk has left behind. Bruised muscle and displaced scales, but Clint doesn’t think it’s broken. Nonetheless, it feels nice to have Bruce’s careful attention on him, his fingers light and still wet with sea-water as they examine his tail.

“So you’ve been researching us, Bruce?” Clint asks, cutting into Bruce’s highly focused attention. “How long?”

Bruce glances up at his face, pausing as if waiting to catch a trick or a joke. Clint’s expression, open and waiting, seems to reassure him enough to make him keep talking. “Maybe six months,” he admits. “I think the origins of your people might be similar to what turned me into, uh, the other guy. You aren’t scientifically possible, strictly speaking.”

“…Uh-huh,” Clint says, while thinking about how Fury will probably want to rip this guy’s head off for all of this.

“Or scientifically plausible, I should say,” Bruce concedes. “You make as little sense as I do.”

Clint shakes his head, but he’s distracted by a stab of pain when Bruce shifts one of his displaced scales back into place. He swears and wriggles back from his hand.

“You’re going to be fine,” Bruce says. “But you need to let me fix those.”

Clint grits his teeth and thinks about all of the warnings he’s been given about humans in the past - but he nods and lets Bruce come closer, his hands so much gentler than Clint could have imagined. Bruce is nothing like the pirates or sailors from the stories, obsessed with nothing more than capturing and killing his kind.

Bruce only sits up when he's satisfied that he's done everything that he can. He glances up at Clint's face. "How do you feel?" he checks.

Clint shrugs. "Good, I guess," he answers.

"Do you think you can make it home?"

There's a complicated answer to that question. Clint can swim like this; he's sure of that much. The question is only whether or not he wants to - because he wants to stick around Bruce. He wants to find more answers, but Bruce's expression speaks of the need to escape. "Yeah," he says. "I can swim."

"Good." Bruce nods, clear relief on his face. "That's good."

Clint doesn't want to say goodbye, but he doesn't think he's going to get a choice. Bruce is already edging away.

*

It’s a long journey home, swimming through miles of ocean, but eventually Clint makes it. His tail aches within the first five minutes, but he knows how to carry on: he knows how to power through the pain. Mermaids have always been hardy creatures, and Clint is one of the Guards - he is as sturdy as it comes.

He finds a cave on the first night and hides there to sleep, but he doesn’t linger for long. He swims onwards, while green monsters and soaking scientists linger in his thoughts. It seems to take forever, but eventually the stone spires of the underwater kingdom loom through the water in front of him.

An elaborate system of caves, forged by merhands and by thousands of years of relentless water, the kingdom stretches for miles over the sea-bed. From a distance, Clint sees the glow of lights and can watch the flitting movements of his brothers and sisters from cave to cave. Aching, he rushes onwards - he has so much to tell.

Natasha spots him first. She approaches in a silent rush of water, her hand cold on his shoulder blade as she joins him. “Clint?” she asks, her eyes too sharp, too bright, too insightful. “Where have you been?”

He shakes his head and doesn’t know what to tell her: the things he has seen, has learned, seem too great to tell. Where could he begin?

Her eyes flick over him, lingering on his hastily tended wounds. “You’re hurt,” she concludes.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even if each flick of his tail makes him want to give up moving for the rest of his life. “I need to talk to Fury.”

“The king?” He shoots her a look that seems to say everything, because her hand slips from his shoulder and she swims at his side. “I’m coming with you.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Clint says, and when he grins he feels more like himself again. “There’s more out there than just us. More than humans.”

“You’ve seen something,” she states.

“Someone.” The Hulk. Bruce. Both of them are far beyond any other creature Clint has seen in their depths. He has fought kraken, but this is _new_. “Fury has to be told about this. Or, he already knows and he’s been hiding it. Either way, I want answers.”

He wants an explanation.

Swimming towards Fury, he knows that what he wants most is to see both Bruce and the Hulk again.

*

Clint refuses to squirm under Fury’s one-eyed glare, as intimidating as it might be. He’s a fully fledged member of the imperial guard. It takes more than a good stare to scare him, even from the king himself.

When Fury doesn’t seem able to make him break or run away, he leans back in his throne and waves a hand. The throne is hewn from the rock itself, dominating an underwater cavern. Floating with Natasha at his side, Clint knows he’s been judged. It doesn’t bother him. Never has.

“Let the human study us if he wants,” Fury declares. “If he tries anything more than that, we’ll be ready.”

“He’s not human,” Clint states. “Sometimes he is, but the thing that took me - you didn’t see it. It wasn’t one of us, and it wasn’t one of them. Something that big, in our ocean, you must have known about it.” Fury’s eyebrows arch, so Clint gives a shrug. “Or maybe you need to check your sources, ‘cause they’ve been holding out on you.”

“It’s a big ocean,” Fury says.

It’s not that big, and a creature that big that close to the kingdom… It doesn’t go unnoticed. Not with the way it had been thrashing about. Clint knows a dead-end when it smacks him in the face. “It’s not the monster I’m worried about. It’s what he might bring.”

“Humans don’t come out this way,” Fury says. He smiles grimly. “We made sure of that a long time ago.”

Every merman in the ocean knows the story of the wars fought centuries ago, but it isn’t enough to keep Clint calm. There is a bruise on his tail that argues that discovery is far more likely than they all think. Humans infringe further and further as the years go on - now there is one who transgresses against his very species.

“Go get some rest, Barton,” Fury orders. “We’ll talk again when you’re well.”

That means that the topic is well-buried, never to be spoken of again, but Clint lets Natasha drag him from the chamber. “You have a death wish,” she states as soon as they are far enough away.

“I know what I saw,” Clint insists. They’re not going to listen to him - giant octopuses mixed with men don’t exist. He’s not even sure if Bruce is a threat. Honestly, he’s not sure of anything.

Natasha accompanies him home and makes sure he eats before he slips into the cavern where he sleeps. “You’ll feel better when you wake up,” she says, forehead wrinkled in a way that says she doesn’t believe a word of it.

Clint’s tail curls behind him and he watches her swim away. It doesn’t matter if anyone here believes him or not. As soon as he’s healed enough, he’s going to head out into the black and investigate for himself.

*

As soon as he has rested, Clint swims far from the mercity, leaving Fury’s kingdom to the currents while he travels back into the black depths. Soon, he can barely see his own arms ahead of him. He breathes deep gulps of water and ploughs on, spinning bubbles behind him, but no monster rears from the deep. There isn’t a single fish to keep him company. Before long, he is left alone, utterly alone.

With miles behind him and no clue how far he has left to go, Clint surges upwards, speeding into the lighter waters where the sun trickles down, and then up and up until he breaches the surface in a spray of surf and salt. He takes breaths of air instead of water and holds his place against the waves. The sun glints on the water, almost blinding.

“What the hell am I thinking?” he mutters to himself, while he can imagine Natasha’s dismissive response about his lack of thought. He’s miles from home chasing a monster from his imagination.

But then he sees it.

Barely a speck on the horizon, his sharp eyes pick up on a vessel. A boat. Every warning he’s ever had about playing with ships runs through his head, but he flips his tail and dives beneath the surface again all the same - swimming straight towards the boat this time, a destination in mind.

He surfaces near the vessel, a small white thing - tiny. Humans don’t make ships like they used to, moving away from giant wooden majesty to sleek, metal monstrosities. Apparently that’s progress.

Something inside makes him tingle as he creeps around the hull of the boat, looking for a better view. He gets it at the back, where the side of the boat falls away to make diving easier. There is a ladder that crawls up from the waves. Hunched over a spread of maps of the ocean floor is the man himself. With tussled hair and a focused frown, Bruce is exactly as Clint remembers him - although he’s managed to pick up some human clothes since Clint last saw him, a woollen sweater and some chinos..

Clint watches him peering at his maps for a few moments. His heart races. He was right. Bruce is real.

He takes a breath, grin on his face, and splashes water at Bruce to get his attention. Bruce looks up, blinking owlishly behind his glasses, but he takes them off as soon as he sees the culprit. “Clint?” he asks, excitement blooming on his face. “How did you find me?”

“I swam,” Clint asks, as if it was easy. “What are you doing all the way out here anyway? Where’re the tentacles?”

“The Hulk is, ah, not so focused on the science,” Bruce answers. He approaches the edge of the boat and sits down, his legs hanging over the edge. His bare feet dangle in the water and Clint struggles to focus. “It’s difficult to control anything when he’s out.”

“He seemed pretty in control.”

“And I’m not,” Bruce points out, with a smile that is practically mournful. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I was told you were a figment of my imagination.”

“Who says I’m not?” Bruce shrugs. “You guys are usually secretive. It’s difficult to find even a hint of you.”

“I’m not like most merpeople.” Clint grins, and rests his folded arms against the side of the boat. “I’m glad I found you again. I thought maybe I really was going crazy.”

“Not as far as I know,” Bruce assures him. He’s sitting merely an inch away from Clint, and the sun beats down on them both, drying the droplets of water on Clint’s shoulders and through his hair. “Can you stay for a while? I wanted to talk to you.”

Fury will kill him if he talks to a human about their society or their species - but as Clint sees Bruce’s cautious, hopeful smile, it’s impossible to say anything but yes.

He puts up with Bruce's questions, serious and earnest enquiries about their way of life. He even gets to ask a couple of his own about Bruce and the Hulk, but it's not all that he wants. He wriggles in the water and pushes away from the boat, smiling brightly as he strikes upon a distraction.

“C’mon, live a little,” Clint urges, a grin on his face as he tries to lure Bruce into the water - he wants to see the Hulk again more than anything right now.

Sitting on the edge of his diving boat, Bruce brushes a hand over his own face like he’s trying to wipe his smile away. “Do you remember what happened last time? I really think this is a bad idea.”

“Last time? A couple of bruises, some displaced scales… I’ve had bad dreams that hurt me more than that. Come on in, doc. The water’s warm.”

“You wouldn’t know. You’re cold-blooded.” Bruce looks down at him curiously. “I think. Even that's unclear. You know, if I could study you more…”

“What’s it worth?” Clint asks. Bruce frowns down at him. “Have a dip with me - let me play with the other guy. Then I’ll let you poke my blood or whatever in return.”

“You’d give me a blood sample?”

“I’m not ‘giving’ you anything. It’s a trade. You get what you want; I get what I want. Everyone’s happy.”

The scientific glee on Bruce’s face is undeniable. Clint has him hooked - he can see it. So he pushes away from the boat, dipping under water for a moment before coming back up to smirk at Bruce. “One time only offer, Bruce,” he says, before he dives again, shooting low this time with no intention of coming back up. He knows Bruce won’t be far behind.

The water churns and bubbles fly around him. Clint turns, swimming backwards, as he sees the Hulk himself splashing his way into the water, tentacles groping at the ocean around him while his huge hands propel him forward. Watching, Clint slows to a more leisurely pace as he swims. A giant grin finds its way onto his face, completely unaffected by the confused fury on the Hulk’s face.

 _This is what you wanted_ , he reminds himself as the Hulk’s eyes lock on him with a roar. He flips back onto his front and starts to swim, letting the Hulk chase him as far as he can, the water rushing past his face as Bruce’s boat becomes lost in the distance. They swim until the Hulk tires enough to stop roaring and growling, and dives down instead of chasing Clint any further.

Clint dives him with him, skittering around just outside of his reach. He’s fascinated by the sight of him, drawn in by the danger even though he knows he should run. “Hey, big guy,” he calls once the ocean floor is in sight, murky and dark. His eyes are still sharp without much light. “Remember me?”

The Hulk glares at him, touching down on the sand in a curl of tentacles and petty annoyance. “Hulk remembers,” he grumbles. “Fish Man get hurt.”

“… Sure, that’s accurate enough,” Clint agrees. Maybe with the Hulk it’s best to pick his battles. “Good as new, now.”

“Bruce helped.”

“Sort of.” Clint could’ve done without the Hulk-abduction and human tail-prodding, but he wouldn’t give any of this up for all the ocean. It’s too fascinating, too new. “I wanted to see you again.”

The Hulk watches Clint skeptically, before he gives a grunting laugh that makes the water around them vibrate. “Fish Man stupid,” the Hulk chuckles.

And maybe that’s insulting, but all it does is make Clint circle closer to him, dodging the Hulk’s tentacles playfully and feeling the water quake with the Hulk’s gentle amusement.

*

He finds Bruce every day, and with a bit of persuasion and bribery he manages to get Bruce to let the Hulk out to swim with him more often. In return, Clint agrees to tests and blood samples and all kinds of scans. There is a part of him that feels guilty about that, that knows that he is betraying all of the secrets that his kind have protected for centuries - but he trusts Bruce. Beyond all sense, beyond all logic, he trusts that Bruce only wants the best for them all. He doesn’t think that Bruce would know how to hurt anybody even if he wanted to try.

A week after he has been away from the mer-colony, a week in which he has been meeting Bruce every day and playing with the Hulk at every chance he can get, Clint turns up at the boat bearing cuts and bruises. A black bruise has closed one of his eyes and, with a cracked rib, breathing is nothing less than hell in either air or water. Nonetheless, he pops up out of the water at the usual time, leaning his arms against the side of Bruce’s boat and splashing water at him until he comes over.

Bruce smiles and comes to sit with him, but the smile vanishes the second he takes in the sight of Clint. “What happened?”

Clint shrugs. “I lost a wrestling match with a shark?” he suggests.

“Did the Hulk do this? I don’t remember… Did he hurt you yesterday?”

Clint shakes his head vehemently “No, no, don’t go there. This is nothing to do with you or the Hulk. It’s all on me.”

“What happened?” Bruce insists again. “Don’t lie to me. I can tell.”

Clint is a good liar. He has been Fury’s imperial guard since he was a teenager - all of his life has been devoted to their cause, to protecting his kind. Something about Bruce and the Hulk made him turn his back on all of that. His priorities shifted, and he still isn’t sure if he understands all of the reasons why. He only knows that he made the right decision. Being near Bruce, and helping him however he can, that’s the most important thing to him now.

“Some of the other mers don’t exactly agree with me spending time with you,” Clint confesses, as he tries not to think too hard about it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“They hurt you.” Bruce reaches down, his movements as skittish and careful as ever.

Clint doesn’t move away, so Bruce’s fingers skim over his cheekbone, tracing around the bruises. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re not doing anything. I’m the one that’s choosing to be here,” Clint argues. He thinks, stupidly and irrationally, that he would chase Bruce all the way onto dry land if Bruce stopped coming to see him. He doesn’t know how to deal with anything that’s happening here, and just leans into Bruce’s hand, nuzzling against the warm fingers on his cheek. “I like you. I like this. Don’t make it a big deal.”

Bruce moves several times like he’s going to say something, but he gives up on the words - Clint is glad for the silence. Bruce lets him rest his head against his thigh, both of them quiet in the sunlight, half-in and half-out of the blue.

Bruce’s boat bobs on the ocean, and Clint stays quiet for as long as he can. He rests against the edge of the boat, his head on Bruce’s thigh, while his tail flicks leisurely from time to time. He breathes in and out through his nose, white noise occupying his thoughts, and lets Bruce comb his fingers through his hair until it starts to dry in the sun, the salt crusty on Clint's cheeks. The silence feels as heavy as the bruises on his face, and Clint wishes he knew what to say to make things better. He doesn’t want Bruce to feel responsible for him.

“Can you swim without turning into the other guy?” he asks after an unknown silence. He shifts so that he can see Bruce’s face, haloed by the sun above them.

Bruce looks down at him with a fond smile, and nods. “I think so,” he says. “It’s been a while.” He looks beyond Clint to the waves. “You want me to come in?”

“I’ll take care of you,” Clint promises with a sharp grin. He pushes away from the boat, wetting himself beneath the water before resurfacing. “Come on in.”

Bruce’s feet paddle in the ocean for a few moments, hanging over the edge, before he gives a shy smile and plunges in. Clint shoots beneath the waves to join him, his eyes perfectly adapted to see clearly in the water. He surges up to Bruce, catching him while he’s still getting his bearings, and pushes the hair floating around his face out of the way. Bruce blinks groggily at him, and Clint takes advantage of his disorientation to sweep in and kiss him, a press of lips to lips while surrounded by the salty water.

Bruce twitches in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away - he doesn’t even respond until Clint starts to swim back, heading for the surface, whereupon Bruce grabs him by the torso and pulls him back under, kissing him again, with gentle, insistent force. Clint shares the air from his lungs when he knows time is growing short, and for the first time since he met the Hulk he begins to feel normal once more.

They surface together, hopelessly entangled. Bruce’s hands are large patches of impossible warmth against Clint’s wet skin, so alive - so human. Their mouths part and Bruce breathes large gulps of air as he stares at Clint. Clint can see the panic mounting long before it breaks free.

“I really need to get back to the boat,” Bruce says calmly, which is a far milder reaction than Clint had been expecting. For Bruce, even panicking is restrained. “Sorry.”

Clint shrugs and lets go of Bruce to let him swim unassisted, even if human speeds are almost intolerable: he doesn’t know how they can stand to go so slowly. He keeps his distance as much as he can bear, flitting back and forth as Bruce makes his gradual journey back to where his boat waits. With a violent splash of water, Bruce heaves himself out, leaving Clint to circle his way closer to the back of the boat, resting his arms against the low side as usual.

“So.” He looks up at Bruce as he catches his breath. “You’re freaking out.”

“I just kissed a merman.” Bruce pushes his wet hair out of his face. “I don’t know if this counts as ‘freaking out’. It’s more of a ‘justifiable reaction’.”

“I just kissed a human. That’s the same level of weird.”

Bruce sits on the floor of his boat and watches Clint like he doesn’t know what to think any more. Clint tries hard to look as non-threatening and charming as he can. It’s hard to tell if he succeeds.

Bruce shakes his head, answering questions Clint never asked. “I can’t do this,” he says. “This was supposed to be about the science. That’s all. I was never supposed to interact. It's all been different since I met you.” He brushes water from his face with a weary hand. “It was never supposed to be like this.”

“Who cares what it was ‘supposed’ to be like?” Clint asks. “You were never ‘supposed’ to meet me. So what?” He braces his hands on the base of Bruce’s boat and lifts himself out of the water, arms tensing. He sits on the edge, the end of his tail still trailing in the water, while Bruce remains sprawled on the boat at his side. It’s strange to be so completely out of the water, drying off slowly in the sun. “It doesn’t bother me. Should I not have kissed you? Has that messed you up?”

“It’s more than that, Clint,” Bruce murmurs. He shifts to lean against the side of his boat, watching Clint as he moves. His legs cross beneath him, bare feet and hair attracting Clint’s bright-eyed attention - so strange, so different, so human. “I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

Clint grins, even if his chest feels hollow and full of air. “Doesn’t matter what you should have done, big guy,” he says with a shrug. “You’ve got what you’ve got. Work with it.”

He doesn’t know what decision Bruce is going to make from here, and if he’s honest that terrifies him. It’s out of his hands - and, watching the torn indecision on Bruce’s face, he can’t predict which way this is going to go.

Bruce watches Clint with half-lidded eyes, even as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. The sky has been stained orange and pink, but Clint makes no move to slip back into the water and find somewhere safe to rest for the night. He moves caves regularly so that predators - or the king’s agents - won’t be able to track him down so easily. Doesn't seem to matter any more.

“I should be getting back,” Bruce says eventually, a sleepy, heavy rumble. “It’s getting dark.”

Clint mumbles in return. “Can’t you stay out here?” he asks.

“I can’t,” Bruce answers. “The boat…” He doesn’t finish his explanation. He doesn’t have to. Clint knows the sound of an excuse.

“Why doesn’t the other guy come down with me?” Clint suggests. “He likes it down there.”

“Clint…”

“No. I get it.” Clint hates the bitter twist in his words. “I really get it. I’m not human. You can’t even breathe underwater. How was this ever going to work? _Stupid_. You know, I really wish the Hulk had never found me in the first place. I gave up everything.” He flicks the end of his tail in the water, sending angry splashes of water arcing through the air. “You didn’t ask me to do that. I know.” He breathes deeply, dry air in his lungs, but nothing feels right up here. “This just really, really isn’t fair.”

Bruce shifts beside him, pushing himself across the bottom of the boat, closer to Clint than Clint can handle right now. He reaches out, placing his hand on Clint’s shoulder after a moment’s hovering pause. “Clint, I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“Yeah,” Clint huffs. “Don’t bother.” He pulls away from Bruce’s hand and slides from the end of the boat down beneath the waves, into the blackening sea - the cold ocean embraces him and he tells himself that this is it, the end, that it’s the last time he’ll be visiting the surface for years.

He’s so busy diving that he almost misses the mammoth churning at the surface as the Hulk crashes down above him.

As Clint plunges deep into the ocean, the Hulk follows him - hooking him back with a strong arm around his torso, tugging him in against his impossibly large chest. Clint complains and twists to try to escape, but there’s no escaping from the Hulk. This is what got him into this mess in the first place.

The Hulk holds onto him and they sink slowly, like leaves from a tree, slowed by the spread of the Hulk’s tentacles in the water. The Hulk lifts him so he can bury his face against Clint’s shoulder-blades. “You’ve got to go, big guy,” Clint says. “You heard Bruce. We’re done here.”

The Hulk grumbles in a way that makes all the water quake around them. “Stupid Fish-Man,” he complains. “Stupid Bruce.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. He stops struggling - because he knows there’s no way he’s going to get free, and because the grip around his chest is nice, even if it’s not what he wants. “We’re both idiots.”

The Hulk nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Clint doesn’t know where this is going - the Hulk is difficult to predict even when the most challenging thing he wants to do is chase dolphins for amusement. Being faced with big upheavals, it’s impossible to tell what he’s going to do next.

They continue to sink, but after a few moments the tight grip around him loosens. With a flick of his tail, Clint is free, sliding from the Hulk’s grasp. He turns in the water to face him. The Hulk’s green face is contorted in misery instead of rage or confusion. “Hulk,” Clint says, flitting closer. “Whatever he’s saying, inside your head, don’t listen to him. Bruce doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Bruce smart,” the Hulk mutters. “He knows.”

Clint would shout himself hoarse if he thought it would make a damn bit of difference - but Bruce is so fixated and determined that there is no chance of getting through to him. “I gave up everything. I left home because of you,” Clint points out - quiet and petty, he thinks that he sounds like a child.

The Hulk reaches out and brushes one mammoth hand against Clint’s cheek, painfully gentle. There’s nothing monstrous about him. He is what Fury has been afraid of: not the humans, but the monsters of the deep. Clint clings onto one of the Hulk’s fingers, his hand hooked tight around it.

“I don’t want to go back,” he confesses. He has never felt more alive or at home than he has around Bruce and the Hulk. There’s a whole new world above the surface, and beneath it with the Hulk there is so much left to explore. He doesn’t want to go it alone.

“Fish-Man should be with his people,” the Hulk says. “Bruce should be with his people too.”

“And you?” Clint asks, unable to restrain the flash of anger in his voice. “What about you?”

“Hulk has no people.” The Hulk looks above them to the surface, a dwindling, far-away light. “Hulk should go.”

Clint shakes his head, but his throat aches with futility. “It doesn’t need to be like this. We could work out a way. The three of us.” The future, trapped in a tank on the shore, rears ahead of him like an unwelcome nightmare. He can barely consider it. He can’t ask Bruce to join him out here. They’re trapped by biology.

The Hulk grabs for him again, holding on tight, and Clint doesn’t even try to wriggle away. He holds on and imagines what it might be like to keep the Hulk down here with him - imagining a future where they could swim and explore together. He’s forgotten what it felt like to lose.

*

The Hulk leaves and the ocean seems to stretch for miles in all directions. Clint isn’t lost. He knows where home is; he knows how to find the shore; he knows every cubic inch of the water around him, but he doesn’t know where to swim.

In the wake of Bruce’s boat, he flits aimlessly, swimming so slowly that he knows there is no way he’ll be able to catch up with him. There’s nothing to say. Eventually, there is no other choice - he has to turn back.

Entering the underwater cave system no longer feels like returning home. It might have been a simple matter of weeks, but Clint knows that he no longer fits. He expects the caves to have changed in his absence, to have morphed and twisted around him. Nothing is different. Other merpeople swim back and forth around him, a bustling community - everyone focused on their own lives, their own goals. He’s made an ocean-changing discovery, but nothing has changed for anyone but him. Life goes on. He has to work out where he fits.

He winds through the cave systems, getting further and further away from the central bustle. It isn’t long before he’s in his own neighbourhood - run-down and crumbling, but safe and remote.

With a swish of red hair and bubbles, Natasha appears beside him. She looks him over as if assessing the damage, before she gives a curt nod. “Got that out of your system?” she checks.

Clint wouldn’t know where to begin answering that. “Don’t start,” he sighs at her. “Just tell me how much trouble I’m in.”

“Fury’s going to hit the roof when he finds out you’re back. If you’re lucky, he’ll have you cleaning algae from the walls for weeks.”

“And if I’m unlucky?”

“He’ll blast you right out of the ocean.” Natasha gives a shrug. “It’s 50-50.”

“Comforting.”

Natasha punches the side of his arm, almost gentle enough to be a nudge. “You alright?” she checks. “Really?”

Clint flicks his tail to come to a stop as they reach his cave, still untouched. He thinks of the man on the surface, squinting in the sun with a perplexed smile on his face and his cheeks scattered with freckles. He thinks of the green giant curled inside that man, both of them as gentle and monstrous as the other.

He looks around at the caves. The water used to appear warm and light, but now he notices the dark shadows and the cold currents around them. He offers Natasha a fractured smile. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he answers. She allows him to retreat into his cave, her face a mask.

Inside, he settles down and tells himself that this is home - but as soon as his eyes close at night, Clint will always dream of fresh air, the warm sun, and the whisper of _what could have been_ above the waves.


End file.
